I Cannot Tell

I cannot tell the difference
between my grandparents.

I've never seen them apart.
I've never seen them argue.

They've had 65 years
to work everything out.

Neither one will vacuum or iron
but both are happy to cook and dust.

They talk at the same time
and repeat the same stories.

I'm not sure they even know
The difference between them.

They clipper cut each other's hair and
have taken to sporting each other's underwear.

When I arrived with groceries this morning,
I found them in front of the bathroom mirror;

Grandma was shaving her face. Grandpa was
rubbing a nub of her favorite lipstick on his lips.

Maybe they're losing it.
Maybe they're lost in each other.

Or, maybe, this is what Ruth, in the Bible means by
...and the two shall become one.

by Elizabeth Boquet

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Elizabeth Boquet teaches English and chairs The Pernessy Poets in Lausanne, Switzerland. Her poems have appeared in Crab Orchard Review, Snapdragon, Stoneboat, Necessary Fiction, Offshoots and other literary journals. Naomi Shihab Nye awarded her a Geneva Writers' Group Literary Prize (2nd place) in 2017. www.elizabethboquet.com